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My eyes must go wide because he laughs. “I’m joking about that part. We all wear whatever we want, remember? But I’m serious about the rest of it. My family really wants to meet you.”

I remember when Lucca said the same thing; it made me panic, but I don’t feel that way at all right now. Quite the opposite.

“I’d love to come. But what do I need to do? Or bring? French hens? Turtle doves? I am very new at this.”

He stands and walks over to me, wrapping me in his arms. He tucks me under his chin. “You don’t need to bring or do anything. We don’t do presents anymore. Just a white elephant gift exchange, and I will take care of that.”

I nestle my head against his chest, feeling the best I have all day. “I’m happy to help you. Just tell me what you need.”

He pulls back, brings his hands to my chin to tip my face back, and kisses me. “All I need is you.”

25

On Christmas Eve, we rent another car and drive the three and a half hours north to West Lake. Once in town, we stop in the Valu-mart parking lot under the guise of picking up ice. When Mackenzie mentioned parking lot doughnuts a few weeks ago, I had a vague sense of what he meant, but I am subjected to the full experience as he pulls the parking brake on our rented Ford Focus and whirls us around in snowy circles.

“This is how we impressed all the girls back in high school,” he says as we drive toward the exit, and he flicks his left blinker.

“And that worked for you?”

He laughs as he makes the turn. “Not at all.”

Downtown West Lake is cute and quaint. It feels like a tiny beach town under two feet of snow. Mackenzie points things out as we drive: the Legion, where he had his first beer, and the ditch, where his brother Clive got their minivan stuck the day his other brother Aaron tried to teach them both to drive.

My stomach seems to be twisting itself into an intricate sailor’s knot, following each bend and curve of the road as it flips and folds until we finally pull off the country highway onto a long graveled road. The trees on either side of us are tall and thick with snow, and even though it’s just past noon, it feels like the sky is growing dark. When we turn a bend and a house comes into view, I have to blink twice to make sure what I am seeing is real and not some Christmas mirage.

“That is not your house,” I say as we turn down the driveway and pull up in front of the building in question. It’s two stories tall with clapboard siding and a giant porch that reaches all the way around the front. Each post is wrapped in green garland and twinkle lights, with more garland running along the banister. The roof and the top of the porch are all trimmed in white lights, and in each of the six upper windows is a green wreath with a red bow. Off to the side is a detached garage that looks like a miniature version of the house, decorations and all.

“My mom has a bit of a problem.” Mackenzie puts the car in park and cuts the engine.

“You and I have different definitions of what constitutes a problem.”

He undoes his seatbelt so he can turn to face me. “You’ll take that back when you see the bathroom tree.” He cups my face in both hands, which are still warm from the heated steering wheel. His breath, however, comes out as a white puff, the car already cooling to the freezing temperatures outside.

“Are you ready?” he asks, placing a soft kiss on my lips.

“Nope.” The knot in my stomach squeezes as if proving my point.

Ready or not, the Smith family greeting party comes at us full force as the front door bangs open, and two German shepherds and a pug run outside, followed by a woman in a Santa hat and an apron covered in Christmas trees with the phrase I like them real thick and sprucey, written across the front.

“They’re here!” She has Mackenzie’s dark blond hair and kind blue eyes, and from the way she sings her greeting, his perfect pitch.

We get out of the car and are caught up in a swirl of snow, dogs, and hugs. I meet Mackenzie’s dad, Michael, his brothers, Aaron and Clive, and his mom, Nancy, and her three “babies”: the German shepherds Domi and Gilmore and their pug Potvin.

“Gillian is working out in Vancouver,” Nancy explains before I can ask about Mackenzie’s sister. “She couldn’t get the time off, but we will FaceTime her later. She’ll be so excited to finally meet you. We are all so so happy you could come, Annalise.” She hugs me long and hard.

“Okay, Mum.” Mackenzie taps her on the back until she releases me. “I’m going to get our bags from the trunk. Why don’t you take her inside to warm up?”

Nancy loops her arm through mine, walking me inside and detailing the events of the next two days. “There will be a Christmas Eve dinner tonight for the family,” she explains. “Then tomorrow morning, we will all wake up and do our gift exchange game. Christmas dinner will be served at three, then Mike and I will retire to the couch in our stretchy pants, and then all you kids will head over to Mackenzie’s cousin Zoe’s house for her Christmas get-together. Sound good, honey?”

I nod, but my attention has shifted from her question to the living room in front of me.

I clearly exaggerated when I told Mackenzie that Christmas exploded in our apartment. If our apartment was an explosion, then this living room would be a Christmas decimation.

There is a mat beneath my feet that reads, Merry Christmas, ya filthy animal. A coffee table is covered in fake snow and an entire miniature ceramic Christmas village with working lights and a tiny operating train chugging through it. There’s fresh green garland running up the banister to the upstairs and trimming every single one of the doorways. In a span of thirty seconds, I count eight angels, four Santas, and three Christmas trees: one made of glass on a credenza, one in the corner of the dining room, and a huge real one in the family room.

I had thought Mackenzie was joking about the bathroom tree. Now, I am not so sure.

“I’ll show you to our room.” Mackenzie takes our bags and starts to walk up the stairs, but his mom clears her throat.